


A Drugs Bust

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, M/M, Scotland Yard, consulting detective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cops and robbers, daring escapes, welcome to Sherlock's London! Not to mention some scolding, some pouting and some guilt-tripping...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quite literally the entire first chapter wrote itself in my head one night after work. I scribbled some notes to remember it and started typing the very next day. And please note, this is not Brit-picked at all. Any inaccuracies are just that--inaccuracies!

Bang! BANG!!

"Christ!! Sherlock, get down!" John Watson threw himself down on the roof, grabbing at the back of the other man's long coat. The gunfire was coming from the roof of the warehouse across the alley. Far from their mark, the bullets pinged off of the concrete joists of the warehouse he and his partner were currently traversing. "They're shooting at us! Stay down!!" He was practically laying on the roof, hidden by the low retaining wall, but he did manage to get a handful of coat and yank at it.

"I know, just keep moving!" Sherlock Holmes crouched down and glanced back over his shoulder at the shorter man. "And unlikely as this sounds, do let them catch a glimpse of you every now and again." He turned his gaze back towards their pursuers, silvery-blue eyes taking in every detail, no doubt judging distance, angle of shots, as well as the speed of the pursuit.

"What the bloody hell!"

"I have a plan, John!" With that Sherlock began running as best he could, still doubled over.

"So do I, and it is to not get shot!" John let out an exasperated sound, as he was certain Sherlock was too far ahead to have heard his comment. "Let them see me, of all the utterly ridiculous things to say..." He scampered ahead, catching up to Sherlock just as more gun blasts were heard. "And exactly WHY do we want to let them see us?"

"They need to think that they are chasing us, even though they are on that rooftop, on the other side of an alley, a good 400...500 yards from us." His tone made it sound like it was such a logical conclusion that even a child would have come up with it. "Do you have your gun by any chance?"

"If I've learned anything, Sherlock, it's that even a walk through Regent's Park might require some sort of protection if I'm in your company. Of course I have my gun!" He reached behind him and pulled it from the back of his trousers. "Here!" He shoved into Sherlock's hands.

"No, you fire it; I might accidentally kill one of them." Sherlock cautiously peered over the low wall surrounding the flat roof. His appearance drew gunfire. "You are alot more accurate than I am, especially under pressure."

"You might..." John's expression was one of disbelief, and he gave one short,sharp headshake at the words. Had he really just heard Sherlock say that, and in the matter of fact tone of a university professor announcing that the sun had come up that morning. "Well, isn't that the point then? To kill at least one of them, maybe, oh I don't know, the one with the damned gun?"

"Actually no. Oh, make it seem as though you wish to kill them, it will make them more vigilent, but no, at the very most wing one of them. A minor flesh wound at best. Something they can show their boss, so they can underscore how devious and dangerous we were."

"Right then. And while I am carefully winging one of them, you'll be..."

Sherlock's attention swung to a point about 50 yards ahead of them. "I'm going to sneak over there, and make sure they see me casting about for either a weapon or an escape route. Once they've seen me and move somewhat towards me, I'll double-back and we'll run back the way we came."

"Back the way we...Sherlock, we could run straight into more of them, back-ups, you know? They know exactly where we are, they'll storm this building!"

"John, you have to trust me; I really do have a plan. Now fire a couple of shots at them, I'm moving."

"Right, and let them see me."

Within three minutes Sherlock was racing back towards John, still doubled over. He didn't slow down, but he plucked at John's jacket sleeve enough to make John start running as well. Instead of running along the wall, they darted across the roof towards a large metal vent, which they then paused behind, listening to the gunshots. Satisfied that the shots were aimed where Sherlock had been, and not at where they were currently hiding, Sherlock tugged on John's jacket and indicated a rusty door standing half ajar, a door that led to a flight of stairs. One last glance towards their pursuers current position and off they went, legs propelling them swiftly towards at least some small semblence of safety, or so they hoped. The stairs were more like a metal ladder, creaking, rusty, but holding under their weight as their feet barely touched any of the rungs. Once at the bottom, they stopped long enough to catch their breath. As John's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he surveyed their surroundings. Old warehouse, multi-level, this was the third storey, and he surmised had been used for storage. There were a few moldering cardboard boxes strewn about, otherwise the floor area was bare. There were doors along one wall, at regular intervals. Dead-center appeared to be the doors of a huge service elevator.

Assuming they would try the freight elevator, John made a move towards it, only to feel Sherlock's hand on his forearm. "John, I said I have a plan. You have to trust me on this. Freight elevator, chancey it would even work, doubt there's any power to the building at all. Plus it would be noisy." He paused for a moment, so fleeting that someone who wasn't familiar with his habits might not even have noticed it. Mind palace, John thought, he just dipped into his mind palace. When his eyes opened his gaze fixed on a door near the far end of the building. "There! Probably what was used as a fire exit, goes down to the ground floor, that's where we make our escape."

"But...but...unless my directions are totally messed up, exiting by that end of the building..."

"Who said anything about exiting by normal means, John?"

The ground floor was reached within 90 seconds as they had bolted so hastily down the concrete steps. Light was seepng in where the paint had come off of window panes, making it easier to assess their surroundings. John saw partioned areas that had once been offices, there were several sets of monsterous scales and oddly shaped, unidentifiable metal objects laying near them, as though still awaiting a final weigh-in before shipping. The floor was concrete slabs, gritty with acuumulated dirt and diesel oils, and lined with grate covered troughs that at one time may have carried away water if anyone had ever bothered trying to keep the slabs clean. But what John was looking for was a clever way to escape or at least an unlikely place to hide. Surely the thugs who had been chasing them would figure out in short order that they were no longer on the roof, and just as surely there were probably more of them already on the ground watching for them. Just as John opened his mouth to speak, Sherlock, who had wandered towards the interior of the building, made a soft whistling noise and motioned him over to where he was inspecting something on the floor.

"Our escape route."

John glanced at the floor, then back at Sherlock. "A manhole cover."

"Exactly, leading down to the waste water system for this warehouse, which will lead us to the sewer system and our way out of here." Sherlock beamed triumphantly.

"Right, OK." John glanced around. "We'll need something to help us get some leverage..."

"I found this," Sherlock held up a rusted crowbar. "Still solid enough to work, I think, and before you ask, I do believe there are enough footprints and tire tracks in the dirt that ours will blend in. Come on, help me!"

Minutes later they were inside the huge drainpipe, tugging the manhole cover back into place. Once it thunked solidly into its hole, they stopped and strained their ears to listen for tell-tale sounds of pursuit. None yet, which was at once a relief and a worry. Had the thugs given up or were they laying in wait someplace nearby, and if so, did the manhole cover make so much noise that they'd be discovered?

Apparently satisfied they hadn't been heard, Sherlock pulled a small torch from his pocket, ducked down, and set off confidently in what John assumed was the direction to the main alley going through the abandoned manufacturing complex. It was like a city of huge, empty warehouses that was once bustling with with the sound of industry and shipping. Abandoned since the late 90's, there was little activity except for some salvage operations working at stripping reclaimable metals from the interiors of the buildings. Their case had led them to this area, as Sherlock gathered clues and information, and had pieced them together like giant patchwork quilt.

"You have any idea where we're going? Or what we'll run into?" John strode after the detective, though still casting a wary eye behind him.

"Even the sewer workers needed maps, John, though if one is astute, one would realize that most sewer lines follow streets, or most streets follow sewer lines. Hence the manhole covers we drive over every day." He glanced at John, looking pleased when he saw the expression on John's face. "Yes, I do know exactly where we are and where we are heading."

"Won't we run into...well...sewage?"

"We will, or we would if we followed this all the way into downtown London. New construction has meant new sewer lines, these older ones aren't used as much. Unless it rains, which it has not in over a week. We'll exit before things get too...sewer-ish."

"OK, but one minor problem--how do we get out of here? We can't just pop open a manhole in the middle of a street..."

"We have a couple of options. The direction we're heading in is taking us towards a ravine of sorts, near some new construction. Considering how dry these tunnels are, I think it is safe to assume we'll find an outlet, that they haven't torn this old line out yet. Our other option takes us closer to the city but that has it's obvious drawbacks."

"Sherlock....you had this all planned, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"This escape route, you had it all planned."

"Considering the criminal element I knew we were likely to encounter, I felt it prudent to have several options for our retreat...or escape as you call it...figured out so that we could hastily remove ourselves." He cast a sly grin at John. "I also felt it would be wise if one such route seemingly allowed us to vanish into thin air!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives Greg Lestrade a headache. Comforting to know, isn't it?

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade looked up from the paperwork scattered all over his desk.  "Wait, what? Say that again? You found WHO...WHERE???"

"We didn't exactly find them, sir, they just appeared at a construction site..." The Lieutenant looked increasingly uncomfortable.  "Mr. Holmes was going to comandeer at dump truck and drive it here--he did say it was important--but instead someone called the police and they got brought in..."

"Oh for God's sake!"  Lestrade threw his pen down with such force that it bounced and nailed the underling on the forearm.  "Where are they? No don't tell me--being processed?" He was up and grabbing for his suitcoat before he even got finished with his question.

"No sir!  The desk sergeant recognized them, called up here, I took the call."

Lestrade's reply, if he made any, was lost in the resounding thwack of his office door being thrown open and hitting the wall.  Holmes and Watson, being brought in via squad car by a rookie cop and his obviously uninformed partner, for attempting to steal a construction vehicle.  He was certain that some day it would make for a greatly humorous tale, but at the moment he wasn't exactly laughing.  For one thing, he was sure Sherlock would be in a foul mood, having been mistaken as a thief, and for all he knew, Sherlock may have even called his brother Mycroft to tell him they were being arrested and thrown in jail.  Then there was the little matter of why had they been crawling through the sewer to begin with, but he had a hunch it had to do with a current case, a case he himself had told Sherlock not to pursue because of the level of danger.  Taking a deep breath, Lestrade cursed silently at the headache that he was developing.

"Gentlemen, I wasn't expectng to see either one of you today!" 

Sherlock, who had been glaring out the small window, spun around, excitment flushing his normally alabaster cheeks.  "I think I know where Corval and his people are operating out of.  I also know how we can sneak in and take them by surprise."

"And I told you to step down from this case; it's too dangerous for a civilian!"  Lestrade invaded Sherlock's personal space and was nearly poking him in the chest with his index finger.

John jumped up from his chair. "You told him to step down? Sherlock, you utter git, why didn't you say something?"

"Because I knew you'd want to listen to orders, and I needed you with me." His explanation was paired with a slight eye roll, as if the answer was far too obvious.

"Oh yes of course," John threw his hands in the air, "Because you might accidentally kill one of them if you took a shot at them!"

"What? Who was shooting at who?" Greg looked confused.

"Whom."

"Excuse me?"

"It should be who was shooting at WHOM, not who."  A haughty sniff issued forth.

"Sherlock, I swear..." Lestrade let the veiled threat hang in the air for a heartbeat. "Were shots being fired? Are you two okay?"  He let out a small sigh seeing them both nod affirmatively.  "Alright, look, I told you to stand down from this one, Sherlock. Corval is unpredictable, he's a loose cannon..."

"But I know the location of his operations, Inspector; in fact I can lead you to his back door."

 

Once in Lestrade's office, he closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms and regarding the pair in front of him.  There was John, steadfast, trust-worthy, loyal--maybe too loyal--and obedient, ever the army doctor.  And then there was Sherlock who was essentially everything that was the opposite of John--head strong, determined to do things his way, and cock-sure of himself.  A brilliant crime-solving genius, whose older brother, Mycroft, just happened to hold some position of power in the British government.  It was Mycroft who had asked Lestrade to kindly keep Sherlock away from the investigation of drug kingpin Ernesto Corval due to the fact that the government was already deeply involved in their own investigation.  Scotland Yard had been brought in because Corval's men were turning deadly, being linked to 3 drug-related killings in the past 4 weeks.

A loud sigh escaped his lips, on purpose, "OK, Sherlock, start talking."

"Oh. I thought I was supposed to stand down. Now you want me to talk?"

"Stop. Just tell me what you've found out."

"I'd rather show you."  Before the full pout could set in however, Sherlock glanced over at John and caught the slight frown from him. "Very well.  Corval's activities were well-documented in Spain, up to the point of supplies leaving Cadiz, sailing in to and then out agan from Los Cristianos.  From there the trail seemed to go cold but I was able to get my hands on the dockets from those two ports.  I used a government email address to contact ports all along the European coast, as far north as Norway. Turns out one name on those dockets was also showing up in Denmark, at Esbjerg, and then in an unusual move, at the Port of Tilbury.  Apparently Corval's people were trying to be clever, so I employed my secret weapon--the homless network."

"OK, so far, so good. What did your homeless network do?"

"They're quite spread out, there's quite a group of them just southeast of Brixton.  There's an abandoned industrial complex, the only people who are working there these days are the salvage crews that the City has sent in. So, there are some vehicles in and out of the area, and Corval tried to blend in.  Very cleverly too, I must say. "

"How so?"

"Dump trucks."

"Excuse me?"

"He used two dump trucks...with fake payloads.  I have photos--giving the homeless network track phones was the best investment I've ever made.  Some of them started to notice these two trucks were never covered with dirt and dust and oddly enough their payloads always looked exactly the same." Sherlock poked at his iPhone, and then passed it to John, who glanced at it before handing to Lestrade. "Turns out the 'junk' that is showing is a cover, it's all laminated together or something, and the gate in the back is actually two small doors.  They couldn't get pictures of the inside for us, but they smelled chemicals, strong chemicals, the kind used to make methamphetamine.  The trucks always go to the same old warehouse, which, interestingly enough is the only one in the complex with 2 sub-levels.  The warehouse itself looks totally deserted and has been stripped of most of the salavable metal.  The sub-levels....ground zero for the biggest drug lab London has seen in years."

 


End file.
